Discord's Will
by Pellakanoiel
Summary: Harry Potter x-over. At the height of the war, the Marauders are flung into Sunnydale thanks to a mysterious gift from Wormtail. Buffy and the gang have the chance to change the course of the future. Does not follow canon. Eventual B/Sirius, JP/LP.
1. Chapter the First

Disclaimer: Tel and Pel own pretty much nothing. Harry Potter least of all. However, they do own a very dedicated love of both Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Does it count? No. Should it? Yes. And that's all that matters.

This is a crossover fanfic between Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It will be AU, and so it will not follow the original storyline. We will try not to mess it up too badly. It is set in the Marauders' era, after they graduate but before they are... horrifyingly murdered. Yay! As for Buffy, it is set in the middle of the 6th season roughly. After Buffy is whiny and depressed, before Willow is whiny and depressed. Knowledge of Buffy isn't absolutely required, but would definitely help.

Pel writes one chapter, Tel writes the next. Writing styles may conflict, but plot hopefully won't.

Please enjoy. We love you. Was that awkward? Too much too soon? We're new to this.

* * *

Hope was rare.

Ever since Lily Potter had left the protective walls of Hogwarts, the days had grown darker and more uncertain. News, when it could be obtained, read like a continuous obituary. Evil was rising, and the world tense, aware that conflict was inevitable.

And yet a smile could not help from flitting across Lily's soft features every few minutes. Evil could go suck a sugar quill as far as she was concerned. For the first time in so long, she had hope for the future.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted Lily's musings as she positioned the last plate upon the table. James came whipping around the corner with child-like exuberance. At the sight of his wife, his grin grew wider. Within a span of seconds he managed to pull her close, kiss her deeply, and continue excitedly towards the door. His good humor faltered only slightly as he carefully peered out into the doorway. One could never be too careful these days, even when expecting guests.

"None shall enter but those most loyal to Godric Gryffindor in this sacred place!" he bellowed with authority. "What is the password?" Mutterings and half-hearted curses squeezed their way between the many locks upon the door.

"I hate to break this to you, Prongs, old pal, but we're the only friends you've got. Who else could it possibly be?" Lily recognized Sirius's smooth and confident tone. The wizard never spoke with uncertainty.

"Perhaps you are simply a particularly clever minion. After all, it's not too difficult to imitate that irritating whine that the house of Black is plagued with." James gave Lily a cocky smile, all too pleased with his teasing. "Once again, sir, I ask of you the password."

Remus Lupin, who was apparently too hungry to wait much longer, gave out a soft sigh. "James Potter is the greatest wizard in the land."

"And?" pressed James.

"He is the best quidditch player ever born."

"And?"

"And he happens to ride a big broom to make up for his lack of-", but Sirius was cut off by the door quickly swinging open.

"That's quite enough. You may enter," said Mrs. Potter, who was quite ready to defend her husband's honor.

All mischief forgotten, the Marauders, minus one, quickly exchanged enthusiastic hugs and greetings. They did not see each other as much as they would have liked. While the demands of the world tugged at them, it never tore them apart. Years of pranks and foolishness had forged stronger bonds than those of blood.

Peter Pettigrew, ever behind, showed up several minutes later. He arrived rumpled and sweaty, but that was not unusual. Under his arm he carried a box wrapped in an attractive, white paper, tied neatly with a large black bow. The tidy appearance of the gift contrasted ridiculously with the rather mussed Pettigrew. Lily, normally so kind in thought and deed, felt snide comments rising in her throat. She swallowed them with a small frown, wondering if the stress of the past few weeks was getting to her.

An hour passed swiftly, filled with much laughter and delicious food. A passerby would have thought that fifteen people were chattering instead of five. Four, rather, as Wormtail remained reserved. He would not hold eye contact, and would only mutter a reply quietly when prompted. Feeling a poor hostess, Lily wondered if perhaps he was nervous for her to announce the news she had promised them all upon their invitation.

After sharing a quick kiss and a knowing glance with his wife, James stood up with a glass and tapped his wand against it. "As wonderful as my darling wife's dinner has been, we did not actually invite you ragamuffins here just to give you a free meal." James dodged a playful swipe from Lily. Then, with more seriousness than he had displayed all evening, he said softly, "We have wonderful news, and we wanted to share it with our family."

Lupin leaned forward slightly. He had been most curious this past week. James had never been able to keep a secret. He had half expected his boisterous friend to blurt it out the moment he entered the safety of Godric's Hollow. Yet here he was, an hour into the evening, and still pausing for dramatic effect.

"Lily and I are having a baby." If a passerby would have suspected fifteen before, now the estimate would have been closer to fifty. The young Potters were flooded with exclamations of joy and shock and surprise from those closest to them.

"Is it a boy or a girl? When are you due? Have you been feeling OK?" asked Remus.

"Will you name it after me? Can I be uncle Sirius the Magnificent? Do you think he or she will be sorted into Gryffindor?" rambled Padfoot.

"What a... pleasant... surprise," mumbled Peter. "I have a gift for the two of you." When all eyes turned upon him, Pettigrew grew red. "Not for the baby. I didn't know about that. Just for... you know... being friends and all."

"No fair!" exclaimed Sirius. "Now we look like right gits, coming with only empty stomachs." He winked at his smallest friend, who seemed even more nervous than before, despite the jovial tone of the evening.

Eager to end Peter's discomfort, Lupin picked up the present and passed it to Lily. The glowing woman softly tore into the delicate paper, and set the bow aside carefully. Reaching into the box, she pulled out an apple made of gold.

"How... unique," said James, not without kindness.

"Ah, there is something inscribed," exclaimed Lily, slightly confused by the gift. Perhaps it was an heirloom of the Pettigrew family. "It says, 'Misfortune shows those who are not really friends.' That's really... nice. Thank you, Peter."

Sirius took the apple and tossed it from hand to hand. "Yes, Wormtail, it's very nice. Not to mention true! Hey, Lupin, fetch!" Remus was blessed with quick reflexes, saving himself from a scar that would forever remind him of his slightly dangerous friendship with Padfoot.

"It really is lovely. Eye catching. And gold instead of silver, which is always a plus to me, " Lupin said with a purposely wolfish grin. He did not bother to warn James that he was about to throw it, but he didn't need to. Once a Seeker, always a Seeker.

"At the very least, I can bewitch it to fly like a snitch!" laughed James. "We could all play, eh Wormy?"

Peter smiled, but it was chilling and cunning rather than warm. It contorted his face in a such a frightening way that Lily reached for James's hand out of instinct.

"I've had such a wonderful time here in Godric's Hollow. I can't thank you enough for inviting me," he whispered softly, though it was closer in kind to a hiss. He stood slowly and shuffled to the door. Before stepping out onto the slightly muddy path, he turned back to the silent room. "No man is free who is not a master of himself."

The Marauders all thought this rather odd. Then they thought nothing as the world ripped open before them with a horrifying screech, and everything they knew disappeared into the darkest black any of them had ever witnessed. There was no light, no sound, no joy, and above all, no hope.

When Lily awoke upon rough rocks and asphalt, the first thing she saw was a sign proudly stating, "Welcome to Sunnydale!" The second thing she saw was a morgue behind it.

She almost missed the darkness.


	2. Chapter the Second

Disclaimer: Pel and Tel do not own Buffy or Harry Potter. Which they are very sad about.

Welcome to the second chapter! You can count on us updating about once a week, as we both have Tuesdays and Wednesdays usually available. Updates may come sooner than that if we are particularly inspired. We appreciate the traffic coming our way, but would love to hear from some readers. How is our characterization? Anything confusing? Give us the good, the bad, and the ugly. We value your opinion.

* * *

The tinkling bell over The Magic Box shop front door rang out in welcome. From the back room, Rupert Giles straightened over the box of miscellaneous occult objects he was unloading from a shipping box. His brow furrowed. _Strange, _he thought. Generally the Sunnydale locale got enough of the supernatural just simply existing so near the Hellmouth. They rarely sought it out. And when they did, Buffy usually ended up having to repair the damage.

Giles made his way to the front of the store. When he got close enough, he was able hear a sound he'd gotten all too used to of late.

"I don't bloody care if you're from Mercury's second sun. Fact is we're closed. Come back tomorrow," Spike, decidedly Giles' least favorite creature in all of existence, was saying to four rather frightened-looking travelers.

"Er-Spike," Giles cut in. "What are you doing?"

"I'm helpin', ain't I? We don't have the time to get these ninnies back to their dimension," Spike replied, rather like a cocker spaniel, Giles mused, begging for a biscuit after some inane trick. "We got enough on our increasingly smaller plates as is, eh?"

Giles ignored him with difficulty and addressed the new-comers.

"So sorry about him. What is it you were looking for?"

"We're not sure at all, unfortunately. We don't even know where we are. Are we in Lichfield?" One of the men, a tall handsome chap with glasses and black hair pondered, almost to himself.

"W-w-what? Er-no. This is Sunnydale." At their puzzled expressions, he elaborated. "California?" Their expressions didn't change.

"I'll call Buffy," Spike volunteered.

Greetings and introductions were exchanged easily once the Slayer and the rest of the Scoobies arrived. They learned the tales of their travelers and Buffy easily reported the biggest events of hers, following some unspoken inexplicable trust she felt for the strangers. There was an easy comfort about the little shop that had been absent from Sunnydale for far too long now.

Buffy listened contentedly to the conversations passing through the room. She was surprised to see Willow speaking quietly, intently, to the withdrawn man called Remus.

"I can do magic. Pretty impressive stuff. I got good at it, but I also kinda can harness all that is evil and bend it to my every will," she said it as a warning, as a confession, and Buffy sensed relief in her voice. Remus was the first outsider that Willow had really connected with since she and Tara had split up, and Buffy was glad to see her start recovering. "I'm also a lesbian." She said it loudly. Loudly enough 

to break off the other conversations in the room, and she reddened to the shade of her hair as they all stared at her. "Wow. Heh. That was pretty poor timing…" she finished.

The traveler called Sirius had just unwrapped some sort of sweet, a Chocolate Frog, according to the wrapper. It remained frozen, halfway between the wrapper and his mouth, in some sort of morbid digestion limbo. "Wow!" He said, breaking from his reverie and shoving the candy into his mouth. "We've never met anyone who was gay before,"

"Oh, look!" Remus said eagerly, snatching an oddly-shaped playing card with a wizened old man depicted on the front out of the foil candy wrapper on Sirius' lap. "You've got Dumbledore!"

After a long evening of intense conversation with the travelers, the Marauders, Buffy suddenly sensed an urgency to the situation. The woman, Lily, had divulged that she was pregnant, and a war sat heavily on the wizarding people of their world.

"So first off, we need to figure out what we need to get you back to your dimension, or world, or whatever. From there, we can see what can be done about this Dark Lord guy," Buffy announced.

"You mean to align yourself with us?" Remus asked in a voice that conveyed neither trust nor disgust very clearly.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I'm the Slayer. Sort of in the mission statement."

"Now there's something we never considered. A mission statement," Xander joked. "Helping to save your ass and the asses of your loved ones since 1999. And again from then to 2005. And from then—"

"Anyway. You were saying," Spike cut in, gesturing to Buffy. Xander glowered at the bleached vampire, who then poked his tongue out for only his foe to see. Xander made enraged gasping noises, ignored by the group.

"Of course I want to help. I'm sure you'd do the same for us if circumstances were different, " Buffy was standing now, and the people who knew her well prepared themselves to be inspired by a motivating speech. But then,

"Right, let yourself believe that, girlie," Sirius goaded. "Besides, what could you possibly do for us? You're not exactly the most intimidating monster slayer ever. In fact, you're almost…adorable." He feigned an apologetic grimace. Buffy, in turn, sputtered in wordless fury.

"Well, you—I—You—Ugh! Nevermind," she turned to the other Marauders. "You're all welcome to stay with me. Even you." She shot a glare in Sirius' direction, who actually threw his head back in shoulder-shaking laughter. Buffy huffed once and with that, the meeting was adjourned.

* * *

"Anything?" Jonathon asked eagerly, his eyes brightening.

"Absolutely everything. Unlimited wishes. And super hot," Warren assured him, almost manic to get his cohort on board.

Jonathon looked left to Warren, a sheen of eager sweat forming on his brow, and right to Andrew, who looked nervous but had, as usual, been easily swayed by Warren's manipulative speeches. He nodded once, feeling like a hardened criminal giving the go-ahead to a fellow inmate about to stick it to some common foe. The others returned his nod, and Andrew got to work.

Andrew folded his legs underneath of him as he sat down in the center of a large pentagram that had been chalked onto the hard cement basement floor. He gathered various grasses and herbs, set them ablaze, and placed them carefully into the individual points of the star, muttering prayers in unintelligible tongues.

Warren had been increasingly glad of late that he had decided to keep Andrew around a little longer. He had planned to let one of the Rwasundi demons take him the night he'd killed Katrina, but damn it if the little dweeb hadn't proven his worth. For now.

There was a sharp popping sound and the smell of sulfur pervaded the room. They collectively coughed and waved away the angry air around them, wondering what had gone wrong. After a minute to clear their lungs, Andrew sighed deeply and with a tone far too serious for him, uttered seven words that carried with them a foreboding that went altogether beyond chilling:

"I sense a disturbance in the force."


	3. Chapter the Third

Disclaimer: Pellakanoiel and Telmerethiel own only their warped minds and two pairs of underwear. Everything else belongs to Joss Whedon or miss J. K. Rowling. Bless those wonderful people!

A rather quick update, this one. As authors, our own critique against our selves is that we must be careful not to rush along. So many ideas are rolling in our heads, we find it hard to take our time and enjoy each chapter.

Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback! Individual thanks may be added in later chapters, but this update is just a quickie. We tend to have short chapters. We hope no one minds. Please review either way and share your thoughts!

Although Dumbledore had witnessed it several times in his long life, he still found it difficult to reconcile the imposing figure of the half-giant Hagrid with that of the blubbering _half-man_ in front of him. Rubeus had always had heart that more than matched his large body. At the moment, the giant sobbed as though that very heart had broken.

"I tell you, sir, they were gone!" he bellowed, the grief echoing within the small office. Fawkes the phoenix, unmoved by the emotional plight, ruffled his feathers in displeasure at being disturbed. Even several stodgy, old Headmasters grumbled in their frames.

Dumbledore allowed Hagrid's tears to flow for a few moments more, seeming to not notice the annoyed individuals around him. He had found neither potion nor spell was a match for a good bout of tears. When the sobs slowly drifted into hiccups, the patient wizard politely offered a rather garish handkerchief, splashed vibrantly with clashing colors. Hagrid took it gratefully, and proceeded to further disturb the peace with loud snorts and honks.

"Now, dear boy, you will have to forgive this old man, for I am afraid I do not quite know what it is you are talking about." The Headmaster bestowed Hagrid with a very kind smile that soothed his raw nerves. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning, whenever that may be."

Hagrid took a deep, fortifying breath. He felt worse than the day of his expulsion. "I went o'er to the Potter's this evening," he began, barely holding back a fresh wave of emotion. "I had hoped to find Sirius Black there. I've been trying to work out a deal with him, ya see, to borrow that fancy bike o' his. And everyone knows that the best to find any one o' that group is the Potter's." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, ever the polite audience. It was indeed well known of the friendship between Lupin, Peter, Sirius, and James. Unfortunately, that had not worked in their favor with the dark lord rising. Where one was, the others were to follow, making them an easy target.

"Well, professor, sir, when I got there... they... were... GONE!" Hagrid's wail pierced the stone walls of the castle, waking young students and starting afresh the rumors of the Shrieking Shack. Even the Bloody Baron found himself drifting faster towards safer, more remote sections of the ancient school.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was the only person far removed from his visitor's cries. He had lived long, and had dealt with many sorrows over the years. This, however, was by far the gravest tidings he had received since he had taken his position as head of the wizarding school.

"It is imperative that you calm yourself, Rubeus," stated Dumbledore. He had not yelled, but the look in his eye quieted the weeping man immediately. "I am deeply sorry that you should have this responsibility put upon you, but I must know exactly what you saw. Was the lock broken? The door smashed apart?"

Hagrid's brow furrowed in concentration. He felt the importance of the situation weigh heavily upon him. Dumbledore rarely ever asked for anything, and when he did, only a fool would not comply. "No, professor," he finally said. The door wasn't locked, but it wasn't forced open.

Dumbledore nodded silently, but looked more troubled than before. His mind shifted quickly through possibilities, discarding some, holding tight others. "Did you search the entire house?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you found no bodies?"

Hagrid, fearless in the face of ferocious beasts, paled at the very thought. Had he stumbled across the dead bodies of James and Lily Potter, her knew without a doubt the rest of his days would have been spent languishing in St. Mungo's. "No, sir. No bodies. No anything. Just dirty dishes. It looked like they had simply run off, leaving everything a mess."

Dumbledore paced across the wooden floor, his mind working in ways even the brightest Muggle could not conceive. James and Lily were far too responsible to take off without notice. And if Hagrid was the first to discover them missing, it was safe to assume Remus, Sirius, and Peter were gone as well. But were they dead?

The greatest wizard of his day stopped his pacing and gazed upon one of the many magical artifacts populating his room. Voldemort wanted the Potter's dead, that was for sure. Aurors were on the top of his list. But as a man, Tom Riddle had always been a braggart. Had he managed to best any one of those powerful wizards (or witch), he would have left their mutilated bodies to be found, or even announce it himself. No, the situation was not entirely the dark lord's style.

For a mere second in time, Albus Dumbledore allowed his shoulders to sag and his heart to feel heavy. Though he adored each of his students, the Marauders (as he knew they enjoyed calling themselves) had always held a special place. Their disappearance was a great blow. It was yet another tragedy to add to the many of this era. He felt almost as though he collected them, as Arabella Figg collected cats. If only he had chosen a different path. Perhaps then he would have found himself light on tragedy but laden with woolen socks instead.

The second in time passed and the Headmaster stood strong once more, with only the keen eyes of the phoenix bearing witness to the moment of indulgence. No bodies meant no death. No word from his missing Aurors meant misfortune had indeed befallen them. Most troubling, no forced entry meant no enemy... at least in appearance.

"I am afraid, dear Hagrid, that this is just the beginning of our troubles."

* * *

Lily felt foolish.

Here she was laying upon an uncomfortable floor, an unknown distance from home, in a strange place among even stranger people (Vampires? Seriously?), and she could not stop thinking of baby names.

'_Perhaps I am still in shock',_ she thought while gazing up at the ceiling. After all, no class she had ever taken had covered how to deal with dropping through a massive hole in the fabric of the universe. She hadn't even begun to think how it had happened, or why, or even who was behind it. No, she found such dark and troublesome thoughts elusive for the moment. Names, however, came easily.

"James," she whispered into the darkness. "What do you think of Aurelia for a girl? You know, like Auror, but more suitable as a name."

James rolled towards his wife, ignoring the protests from the many bruises caused by the fall. "Lily, my darling, my pearl, my sweetheart," he whispered back with a kiss inbetween each endearment. "I think that's the ugliest name I've ever heard."

The muffled 'oomph' that was a result of Lily's fist in James' stomach did not awaken Sirius Black. He found himself restless this evening, and counting his problems was not as efficient as counting sheep. He rolled over, fluffed his pillow a few times, and attempted to find a position that was nearly bearable. He understood they were imposing upon the inhabitants, but could they not have found a comfortable place for them to rest for the evening?

He could just imagine the irritating smirk on that tiny blonde's face as she laid out their bedding upon a floor as hard as Lady Black's heart. She was beautiful, no denying that, but her smug confidence had grated upon him. Did she not realize that they could be a threat? How dare she strut around as though she was in charge. And now, here she was, prancing about in his head and chasing away all chance of sleep.

"Buffy's not even a name," he grumbled as he thumped his pillow with unnecessary vigor.

While the Potter's cuddled and Black muttered to himself, Lupin found his brain was taunting him. Whatever spell had thrown them into this fascinating new place had been terrifying. It would be logical, he knew, to start puzzling out what spell it was and how to get back. But every time he tried to think about the odd aspects of the situation, his brain brought him right back to a refreshing possibility.

In his world, as much as he loved it, Remus Lupin knew he was unwelcome. The curse that had been placed upon him at a young age had made sure of that. He did not complain about it to his friends, and he had indeed adjusted to his unique... talent over the years, but still he could not stop the voice inside of him that spoke only of the great burden he was upon society. _'Evil,' _it hissed. _'Unworthy.' _He believed it.

But that was his world. Sunnydale did not follow those rules. The little witch, Willow, had only just barely touched upon magic with Lupin, but it was enough for him to know that it was not the same. If it was different, then maybe he too would be different. Better. _Human._

A very dramatic sigh escaped the gorgeous lips (as described by numerous witches) of Sirius. "I don't think a map is going to get us out of this one."

Remus allowed his trademark half-smile to to cross his face. It was a comfort to know that even the blackest of nights could be illuminated by a single star.


	4. Chapter the Fourth

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and J. K. Rowling are very happy people. Joss Whedon and J. K. Rowling own Buffy and Harry Potter respectively. Pel and Tel are not happy people. Therefore, they must not own Buffy or Harry Potter.

Hello, folks! This chapter is a bit off the usual schedule, but that's because our muse seems to have flitted off into a silly corner full of spiders and health foods. We dared not venture there, and had to lure her out with promises and pleas. We do know where we are going with this! It's just taking a bit to get everything formulated. But really, we totally know what we're talking about...

Enjoy, and do review! We would love to hear from you. It helps us pretend we have friends.

* * *

Giles had been eager to start researching the newcomers' problem. He rose early that morning, but Anya, as usual, had beaten him there.

He pondered briefly his relief that Anya had worked out so very well as his replacement. He'd had his worries in the beginning, but Anya's fundamental knack for commerce made her a natural. She'd been taking over bit by bit, and Giles had gradually been sleeping the night through.

Anya, who had always been an early riser, was already stirring the Marauders, who in turn were groaning and yawning in meek protest. All, that is, but one.

Sirius was the only one seemingly unaffected by the bone-hard floor and chilly draft that had accosted the others throughout the long night. He remained snoring softly in a mass of blankets. Anya soon gave up with a huff.

Once Buffy and the other, rather later risers had arrived, the easy comfort of last night seeped in despite the urgency of their situation.

Finally, Buffy, irritated with having to yell over Sirius' snores and "harumphs!" approached, toeing the mass.

"Hey, if you feel like joining us any time before lunch, we're taking time out of our crisis to fix yours," she barked, entirely unamused.

"What?" he gruffly demanded. "Did your lipstick smudge, then, girlie?" He rolled onto his stomach, covering his head with an obnoxiously vibrant sofa throw.

She huffed, throwing her arms up resigned. When she rejoined the others, she looked to Giles.

"So, what do we know?" So began the meeting.

"Er…the apple obviously has something to do with it. 'Misfortune shows those who are not really friends.'" Giles began. "And the incantation…"

"'No man is free who is not a master of himself,'" Lily reminded him, embarrassed to look so pleased with herself. Anya grinned at her in encouragement.

"I'm thinking the incantation must have worked rather like a-a-well, something like a trigger," Giles responded.

"Makes sense," Buffy said. "I think we should start with the basics. The most obvious suspects."

"Mmm, I rather think a re-telling of the evening's events are in order from each of our views," Sirius had awoken finally it seemed, and joined them, kicking his crossed ankles up on the tabletop. Buffy shoved them off and he grunted, annoyed.

"There's no point," Buffy argued. "We know the story. Now--"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot Miss Super Princess Tiny Amazon Warrior Buffy gave the orders round here! That's a stupid name, anyhow: Buffy. No power behind it whatsoever. 'Sirius', now there's a name that strikes fear in the heart of--"

"That's what you want, huh? To scare people? Well, I've got news for you. You've come to the wrong town. This place is mine. I call the shots. You want to be in charge, you can find your on damn way home and order around your lowlies!"

Sirius glared an electrified stare at her, which she returned, undaunted.

"Oh, do carry on then," he answered when he realized he would need to be the one to break the tense interaction.

"Ahem. Anyway. The prime suspect would obviously be Peter," Buffy announced, a little awkwardly.

At once, an angry outburst arose from the Marauders. Even soft-spoken Remus shoved away from the table to argue.

"Now hold on, girlie. I agreed to let you run this show on your turf, but when you accuse my friends of-of-mutiny…that's too much!" Sirius shouted over the uproar.

"Really, now! Peter is far too loyal to do any such travesty!" Remus defended.

"Frankly," James started, a bit calmer than his comrades. "Wormy's a bit of a dunce. He's too thick to orchestrate something like this."

"Well, fellows," Lily, the voice of reason, spoke from her seat, never having jumped from it to defend Peter's honor. "Now it's no secret that I'm none too fond of Wormtail, but Buffy's right. It had to be him. And James is right, too. He's clearly working for someone else. He has to be. So let's don't rule out an Imperius Curse."

"…so he's water-proof?" Xander chimed in, genuinely confused, it seemed.

Willow smacked him in the back of the head. "Imperious," she corrected. "Not impervious."

"The Imperius Curse puts one under the thrall of another. It's difficult, nigh impossible to resist, and let's face it, Peter's not exactly he of the iron will," Remus said.

Discussion went on for a while longer, trying to nail down a clear-cut suspect, deciding unsuccessfully the best course of action. Eventually, a few broke off for a research party, the others drifted lazily into easier topics: past battles, stories of triumphant snitch saves, attempted murder plots. Even Buffy and Sirius began to swap stories of past foes.

* * *

"I hate this place," Andrew said, rubbing his forearms with his palms.

"Grow up, you baby!" Jonathon responded, ducking Andrew's half-hearted smack.

"Ladies--"

"Sorry…" the both responded, and Warren grinned inwardly at his manipulation.

If Warren were honest with himself, he didn't like the morgue anymore than Andrew, but he'd never admit it.

"Whatever. Okay?" He clapped his hands together. "Just do the mojo thing and let's get out of here."

Jonathon, small and insecure, shrunk even as he walked into the center of attention. All eyes were on him. "Oh, God," he sent up a silent plea. "Oh, God, please, please don't let me throw up."

"Ahem." He cracked his neck, his back, the individual knuckles of his fingers…

"Go!" Warren demanded.

"Okay! Jeesh! This kind of thing takes preparation." But he followed Warren's terse urgency.

Jonathon knelt down ceremoniously, lowered his face to the ground, inhaled deeply, and… "A plane crashed here," followed by explosive giggles and high fives between he and Andrew. Followed again by their foreheads cracking together. When the black cleared from their vision, they saw Warren's slightly manic face above them.

"Morons," he released his hold on the back of their shirts, letting them fall back to the cement. He turned to depart, knowing the wouldn't let him get far. He was smug in his accuracy.

Then Jonathon was sitting again on the ground, surrounded by abrasively scented herbs. He murmured prayers and chants, feeling electricity raise goose bumps on his arms and legs. Unfortunately, this high was short-lived, for soon they heard a crack and were coughing away angry smoke as for the second time in two days, a spell had gone awry.

"What the hell?" Warren demanded. "Fix it!"

"Hang on, hang on." Jonathon began a second enchantment, which caused the streetlight above to flicker. "Residual magic."

Warren looked back and forth between Jonathon and Andrew, who simply nodded in understanding. He caught Warren's eye and was prompted to explain.

"He means that some strong magic was already worked here recently. It's like a blockade. There's something in the way of our spell."

"And…how do we fix it, Spock?"

Andrew sighed patiently. "We either reverse whatever powerful spell happened here. Soon. Or we kill the subject slash subjects of the original spell. Soon."

"We'll do what we have to," Warren decided, and turned to leave.

* * *

Giles squinted hard at the tiny foreign text, written on paper quite possibly made of flesh, and swallowed hard around a newly formed lump.

"B-Buffy?"

She came into the back room smiling, having spent most of the afternoon bent over books, pretending to research a way home for the Marauders.

"Read this. Quickly," he shoved the book at her and directed her to the correct passage. She furrowed her brow in concentration.

"Hmm."

"Well?" Giles demanded.

"I'll let you know in eleven years when I familiarize myself with whatever language this is."

Giles huffed impatiently and Buffy pouted as he snapped the book back from her.

"What's the it, Giles?"

"It's unattainable, Buffy. That artifact doesn't exist anymore,"

"There has to be a way to get it. Not a word to anyone yet."

Giles nodded gravely.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

Disclaimer: Pel and Tel don't own anything. At all. Thanks for asking.

OK, so, this is awkward. Yes, we said we would update frequently. And we meant it! But our crazy lives got in the way. It was terrible, you should have seen it. Fortunately, we appear to have no lives once again. Victory! So now our loyal fans can finally breathe easier, uncross their fingers, and move forward. Because we know you were doing that. It's a gift.

Rumor has it the next chapter is nearly finished...

* * *

Xander rubbed his brown eyes with his palms and groaned dramatically. If only he had known that cute, tiny blonde who had shown up in his life one day would lead to ridiculous amounts of reading. And pain. And humiliation. And angry, bleach-blonde vampires with irritating accents who were Billy Idol wannabes and weren't nearly as tough as they thought they were… Wait, what was he doing again?

"It feels like we've been doing this forever," he bemoaned. "It's almost as though we're in this terrible fanfic, and the writers haven't updated for nearly a year." Xander couldn't stop the shudder that ran through his body. Being stuck in a fanfic was his idea of hell. "They'd probably have me making out with Spike, and saying words like 'sophisticated' and drinking fine wines. And you would probably still like guys, Will. Will?"

The red-headed witch (one of two now) continued to stare at her book, but her eyes weren't moving. After a few moments she looked up and her eyes were filled with sorrow. Xander was glad, not for the first time, that his male hormones protected him from deeper, scarier emotions.

"Do you think some things are just meant to be?" she whispered to her best friend since childhood. "I mean, do you think some people are meant to be together? No matter what happens?"

Xander gulped audibly. Sure, he and Will had their romantic moments. As teenagers they'd mixed signals, awkwardly bumped body parts, randomly made out during a life-and-death situation, and destroyed pretty good relationships. But what friends hadn't? He loved her, more than he loved his entire, drunken family. More than he loved his collection of Bruce Campbell movies. Even more than he loved the sexiest of Xena episodes… Perhaps he had a thing for lesbians?

"Xander? Are you thinking about Xena again?" Willow chuckled softly.

"Um, no. I mean yes. Always. But that's not the point," he panicked. Loving someone did not mean you were in love. He had to handle this carefully. Willow was a delicate, shy girl, and he didn't want to hurt her.

He took the good witch's hand gently in his own. "Listen, Will. You know how in the start of show, it kinda makes sense that Xena is with Hercules? How they just seem to fit together? But then Xena moves on and they're just friends. And then she meets Gabrielle, and they kiss, and it's really hot? I'm your Hercules, sweetie. Not your Gabrielle."

Willow slowly drew her hand out of Xander's. She saw him wince, waiting for copious amounts of tears and snot to come pouring out of her. She turned away from him and her shoulders began to shake, jerking with great emotion.

"Ah, Will," he sighed as he reached for her. "I didn't mean to … wait, are you laughing?!"

Willow finally allowed her giggles to burst out of her. There was a certain kind of magic in laughter that no spell could reproduce. Still shaking, she threw her slender arms around her very own village idiot. "I wasn't talking about you, goofball. I was thinking about Tara."

"Oh," Xander sighed. "Oh." He blushed. "Oooooh. This is charmingly awkward of me." His best friend hugged him tighter, her pain forgotten for a few shining moments.

"If it's any consolation, that was a fantastic metaphor."

"Wasn't it? Let's pretend this didn't happen. Like every other day of our lives."

* * *

"This is strange."

Sirius cocked a very carefully groomed eyebrow. "Strange? That's the best you can come up with? You, Moony Lupin, who never earned less than an Outstanding on your exams? The extensive vocabulary tucked away in that head of yours get damaged on the way here?"

Remus hardly showed a flicker of irritation. Padfoot was infamous for being grouchy when he had gone days without girls fawning over him. "I am infinitely apologetic that my terminology did not properly encompass the grand range of bizarre that is this misadventure. Is that better?"

The Black heir merely grunted and shoved the dusty tomes across the table. Never in his life had he ever looked at so many books. Not even the scandalous ones under his bed that had pictures of Muggle women in bathing suits. He needed a woman. Any woman.

The bell above the Magic Box entrance tinkled merrily as the world's favorite Slayer marched inside.

"Well, maybe not just any woman," muttered Sirius.

"I'm sorry, did the man who is entirely comfortable using all of my shampoo in the shower have something to say?" inquired Buffy in a clipped tone.

"I thought you smelled rather lovely today," snickered James, conveniently returning from a lengthy trip into the stacks with his wife.

Sirius's lips pulled back in a distinctly canine sneer. "Really, Potter, I thought you had gotten over your infatuation with me. For your child's sake, you must let go."

The Seeker opened his mouth, prepared to deliver a scathing retort when a polite, very British cough interrupted him.

"Ahem," Giles muttered, shuffling his feet. "Now, let's… let's not argue. Has anyone had any luck? Any, um, portal spells? Reversals, perhaps. Magical artifacts?" he addressed the carpet in-between his comfortable shoes.

The Marauders and Scoobies all shuffled and muttered confessions of failure. Remus frowned, tracing his finger over the incredibly intricate pattern carved into the binding of "El Libro de la Bruja." Giles' careful translations in the margins didn't help much. For once in his life, he understood how the others felt about studying. There was too much swimming around in his head.

"I don't understand why we're here. I mean-"Lupin stopped and sighed, gathering his fluttering ideas and half-thoughts. "Why this place? And why now? This is several years ahead of our world. Or were we just sent in time? Is there another set of Marauders living their lives right now?"

Giles took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he perched them carefully back on, he noticed that all of the Scooby Gang had gathered as well. They looked at him confidentially, assured that he always had the answers. It filled him with joy and dread, pride and concern. He had never let them down, and didn't plan to now.

"Now, I'm afraid all I have are conjectures, guesses, if you will."

"Educated ones though!" Anya chirped. "We deal with weirdoes like you all of the time." She smiled and nodded reassuringly at Lily.

"Quite. Um, yes, well, we have dealt with a direct branch dimension before. That's where you have doppelgangers, variations of one's self." Lupin noticed Willow slump slightly in her seat and look uncomfortable. "Alternate realities such as these are based off of one action, one monumental change that affects everything. This, however, is entirely different."

Buffy smiled as her Watcher's eyes began to gleam. He was an uber nerd for stuff like this.

Giles forged ahead, his voice growing stronger. "No, this is new. For example, your magic doesn't properly work here. Your wands don't seem to channel it correctly. Witchcraft is a completely unique art in our world. If there was a Hogwarts, I certainly would have uncovered it. And the vampires of your world are nothing at all like the demon-possessed that infest Sunnydale. No, what we have is two entirely separate, individual worlds that have never crossed paths. Until now." The intelligent librarian finally stopped to take a breath. "It's quite exciting, really."

Sirius, who had been silent for far too long, finally broke in. "For you, maybe. The rest of us are a bit sick of resting on blondie's charming, stained comforters. I've seen house elves that have nicer belongings than this."

A great snapping noise rang through the tiny shop as Buffy shattered the stake she had been carving. "Listen to me, you ungrateful little shampoo-stealing, whiny, smug bastard," she seethed, taking a frightening step closer with every syllable. "The pregnant chick hasn't complained as much as you, princess. So either you find those house… whatevers and ask them to save your ass, or you suck it up and deal with the fact that I'm the hero of this story."

A long, awkward silence reigned for several seconds that even Anya was terrified to break. Buffy slowly inched her face closer to the glaring wizard in front of her until their noses were nearly touching.

"You owe me a new stake. Start carving," she said with a smile as she tossed a knife on his lap.

With slightly superhuman speed, Buffy strode across the store, flung on her jacket, and headed for the door. "Going to kill some vamps!" she announced. As she reached for the handle, Spike flung the door open with the usual dramatic flourishes.

"Oh good. Apparently they're just delivering themselves now," quipped Buffy.

"Where's your mini me? We have plans. Some stupid shallow drama show. I hate it," he said too casually to be believed.

"I sent her to dad's. There's too much going on. I don't really want her around if there are portals opening again." The Slayer's eyes met Spike's, and animosity was replaced with a mutual understanding. Spike simply nodded, and headed towards his favorite chair near the center of the bunch. Buffy quietly left.

Giles did what he had always done best: Ignore incredibly awkward situations and move forward. "Um, as I was saying. The most important part of your question, the reason Sunnydale was your destination, comes down to two beliefs. You can choose to believe that you are here through mere misfortune. It is, well, a rather long tale, but not so long ago the walls of our world were weakened. Holes were ripped open to many strange worlds. Those tears have since been repaired, but it is much like any other wound. Our world will never truly be as well protected as it once was. The walls are thinner, and easier to penetrate. So perhaps you have arrived here simply because it was the easiest path for the spell to take." He paused, allowing everyone to ponder over this possibility.

"Why is this bunch always so depressing?" muttered the vampire as he attempted to light a cigarette.

"Why do you keep coming here?" Xander asked. Spike didn't bother responding. Like with children and dogs, he found ignoring the poor behavior taught the silly creature to stop.

James wrapped his arms around his wife and softly rubbed her tummy. "What's the second option?"

Giles smiled, glad to see that someone was listening. "Well, the other belief is a bit cheerier, in my opinion. Perhaps you arrived here because magic is ambivalent. Yes, it sent you away. But maybe it brought you to the one place with enough magic to send you back. I think it took you where you would have the best chance to receive assistance."

Anya, Xander, and Willow wrapped their arms around each other and gave their best, award-winning smile. "That would be us!"

Sirius balefully looked up from his carving to glance at the eager trio. He turned quietly to James and mock whispered, "I think I'll still look into that house elf idea."


	6. Chapter the Sixth

Disclaimer: Have you heard of us? Pel and Tel? No, you haven't. Because we don't own Buffy or Harry Potter. You've heard of Joss Whedon and J. K. Rowling, because they really do own them. Sigh.

Unusually quiet bunch here in the Buffy cross-overs section. Not that we're complaining (we never do), but we would love to hear from you more. Love it, hate it, dream about it, want to print it out only so you can shred it... Let us know! After all, we have so much in common. You like Buffy, we like Buffy. You like Harry Potter, we like Harry Potter. We value your opinion ever more than your best friend does. Scouts' honor.

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Happy reading!

* * *

The days passed with increasing urgency. Temperaments were running high, there was an air of distinct… failure. All involved were cursed with a heavy, empty feeling at each days' end.

…And Buffy still didn't like Sirius Black.

The Scoobies had adapted quite well to the Newcomers, though it would admittedly be highly impossible to shock them anymore, lest Willow were to do something crazy, like end up on some vengeance-fueled murderous rampage.

Yes, everyone had fallen well in with one another, and it became routine to congregate at the Magic Box each day to discuss plans and ideas. Or, more accurately, try for 10 minutes, get frustrated, cry, give up, and trade stories.

Giles watched this each day, more and more irritated. Buffy still hadn't divulged to the Marauders that the secret to their return home had been destroyed before any of them had been born. Before _Spike_ had ever been born.

Giles stood behind the counter fiddling with the cash drawer and watching his companions carry on like ticking bloody hormonal time bombs. He huffed and scrubbed at his spotless lenses incessantly, as even Anya, usually so devoted to earning her paycheck, sat in Xander's lap, flipping idly through a bridal magazine.

He huffed again, rather more loudly than he meant to.

Buffy, nearby, looked up from Sirius' repertoire of 'look at this scar' stories, and chuckling, asked,

"Something the matter?"

Embarrassed and irritated, Giles hesitated, then responded.

"Well you know, now you mention it, rather a lot's the matter. This plan? This sit-around-and-chat-each-other-up plan? It-it-well, it sucks!" His brain had begged him to shut up before he ever spoke, but his mouth was too stubborn, it seemed.

Buffy, armed and dangerous, stood from her chair.

"Oh?" she asked in the tone the Scoobies had learned to fear. The room stiffened.

"Well—I just mean…we're sitting around, not researching…playing footsie?!" He gestured to Xander and Anya, who violently jerked away from one another. "We should be trying to find ways to fix this! Problem solving! I don't know- praying? Buffy, there's a war waging, and we're sitting here planning a wedding!"

"Hey!" Anya protested, affronted. "You did us already! Stiffly criticize someone else now!" She was ignored.

Buffy narrowed her eyes into slits, and a brow raised in what Giles recognized as a challenge.

"Hmm. You want to tell them then, Giles?" The onlookers exchanged nervous glances, but they too were ignored. "Go ahead. Tell Lily that we can't get her back in time for her to bring that baby to her own home, in her own world—that her home may not even exist when and if we get them back. Pull out your charts, and-and your texts. And tell these people that if they ever _do _make it back home, it'll be to a wasteland of broken and bloodied loved ones."

Giles closed his eyes in regret, and wished to himself that he hadn't spoken at all.

"I…I only meant…we've been in these situations before. Some hopeless something or other comes along, we panic, and we cry, but we've always been able to sort it out. Just…we could be trying harder. …Is all."

Buffy calmed then, her face softened.

"Well then please. Tell me where to look."

She turned back to the table, conversation terminated, Giles knew.

He hated that she knew he was out of ideas…superfluous. Ineffective. He'd forgotten to consider the Marauders, he realized. He faced them now.

Lily sat with unspilt tears in her eyes. James, whose expression was unreadable, was comforting her. Remus sat silent, stunned, his mouth hung open. Sirius however, looked merely amused. He turned in his chair, and crossed his legs casually.

"So Buffy…"

* * *

They met again the next day, as per usual, but there was a nearly tangible change in the once comfortable atmosphere.

The Scoobies seemed sheepish, though they all knew that only Buffy and Giles were guilty.

The Marauders, usually friendly and open and genial, sat secluded, distrusting…in mourning, Giles realized with a sickening lurch of his stomach.

James spoke first, cutting startlingly through the tense silence.

"Buffy. How could you have kept this from us?"

"Now, now. There's no call to lay blame. I'm sure Buffy and Mr. Giles thought it best for our safety," Remus cut it.

Buffy sighed, frustrated. "No. You're right. Blame, big blame. I'm blame gal. I'm sorry. It's just…it was so devastating. I just didn't know how to tell you. I mean…even if there is a way to get you back home, it could be months before we can find it. And by then, it might be…"

"…too late," Sirius finished, and patted her hand comfortingly. She looked confused, but only in passing. She pulled away and turned back to the conversation.

"Um…hello, morons?" Anya broke in, her own brand of ex-demony enthusiasm not even the slightest bit infectious.

Xander's eyes widened and he laughed forcefully.

"Honey?" he asked her. "You had something to add?...Politely?"

"Well, yes. Yes! Because I am a useful member of both society and the Scoobies." She beamed. "See…remember when Buffy went to hell? A-after she brutally murdered the only man she'll ever love and ran away to escape reality. Not when she sacrificed herself for the good of mankind and we ruthlessly yanked her out of what we believed to be unspeakable torment, when really we took away her omniscient peace and utter happiness, love and warmth."

"You're coming to a point soon, right?" Willow prompted.

"I already did! God, do you need like, a helmet?"

"An…Honey…"

"I know. It's just—ugh. Well time works differently in different dimensions, of course!"

"Ah," Giles began, and pulled his glasses off to clean again. "Yes, Anya, that's an excellent point." (She beamed again.) "However, there's no way to be certain at what speed time would work in their dimension, as compared to ours, and even if we could, what could be done about it?"

"Oh!" Willow shouted. The table gaped, startled. She flapped her arms, and said, "Sorry! Just…excited. There's—there's a spell! W-we can do! To…to figure out the speed time would move there! A-and maybe alter the speed!"

"Mm, I've heard of that. Kali's Strife, isn't it?" Anya asked knowledgeably.

Giles looked worried.

"Willow—that spell is extremely dangerous. It slips into the indefinite places between time and the dimensional walls. You—you could get stuck there. Not to mention it borders on extremely dark magics that may start you down a path from which no one could possibly return."

"Ugh! I can do it, Giles! I brought Buffy back from the friggin' dead!!"

"Hey!" Xander whined. "I helped!

They argued for another half an hour, until Buffy was fed up.

"Willow, no. It's too dangerous."

"No, Buffy, listen. I can do this! It's complicated, and-and risky, I know that. But I think I've more than proven myself. Why don't you trust me?"

Anya perked up.

"Um…how about because a few weeks ago you cast a spell that made me believe I was in love with Old English." (Giles opened his mouth to protest, but Anya carried on despite.) "You nearly got Spike and Buffy killed. And you had your greasy gay paws all over Xander!"

"Oh thanks for your support, Miss Summons-My-Ex-Boyfriend-God-of-the-Trolls—"

The meeting dissolved into chaos. Giles could scarcely hear his inner-English turmoil and as he opened his mouth to speak, he heard something altogether more alarming.

"Quiet! Please!" Remus shouted, red-faced and shaking. "Now," he stood." We've been silent spectators up to this point. But we're talking of our families. Willow is willing. Eager, even. Our loved ones, Lily's baby, they're innocents. They've got no choice, no chance. No protection. If Willow is willing to risk the danger, please. We are begging you to let her."

Willow mouthed a silent thanks to him, and turned back to Buffy, who also got up from her seat to speak.

"Remus, you're new here. You don't know how things work, so we'll work this out amongst our own. Thanks." She trampled over his gasps of shock. "Willow- if you want to risk your life before we've even looked for another option, fine. Whatever. But when you get stuck in the inter-dimensional time sphere? Call someone else to rescue your ass." She turned to leave. As she was exiting, she heard Sirius guffaw.

"Oh-ho! Girlie didn't get her way. Like I said…adorable."

Willow's mind was made up; she was going to do what she could to help. She had sat by, utterly useless, for six years. She was ready to prove her worth. She wasn't arguing- she ignored Xander's protests as she collected the ingredients in stock at the Magic Box.

Anya's dissent, however, was decidedly harder to ignore.

"Willow!" she'd barked. "You'll die! And you heard Buffy! We're not allowed to rescue you!" She shook herself mentally, forcing herself to shut out the tremors of fear.

Once at the cemetery, Willow fell into her own. She felt the familiar sense of power buzzing through her veins, the sensation that came before any powerful spell. She was no longer nervous; she simply knew that she would be successful. There was no question, no other option.

She seated herself in what felt like the center of the graveyard, lit the traditional candles and herbs, chanted the chant, cut the throat of the sacred blood pheasant she'd imported and bled it over fresh grave dirt as the spell dictated, and entered easily into the trance-like state that came with dimension hopping.

Spike gathered up his coat, cigarettes, and shopping list, intending to head to the open-late convenience store for a few necessities. He shut the door to his crypt behind him, and immediately became aware of the muted, dreamlike quality the atmosphere took on whenever some big nasty was attempting something too big and nasty for their like.

He closed his eyes in the stillness, allowing his senses to overwhelm him, shifting this way and that through town. Finally he found the cause of the disturbance. He was and was not shocked as he dropped his shopping list and hauled off to the cemetery.

"Bloody hell, Red…" he muttered around a cigarette.

* * *

"What's that? D'you feel that?" Warren's head snapped up from a book and he whirled around to his accomplices.

"Dude, paws off," Andrew replied, shoving Warren's clammy hand away. "Feel what?"

"The-the air. Everything's…quiet. Dulled. Something's up."

Jonathon looked concerned, prompting Warren to explain.

"Look, dude. Something big is happening. Okay? How can you guys not feel it? It—it's making my skin vibrate, my eyes swivel in their sockets. Oh, wait, no. The eye thing is me. But seriously. It's—it's like I'm underwater." He shut his eyes, concentrating. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I've read about this, I think," Jonathon volunteered. "It's…it happens when someone close by does heavy, dark magic. It's like a veil. So that no one outside the loop can detect it. It's called like…Odeth's Mask, or something. But—"

"But nothing, shrimp cake! We gotta find it! And stop it! It's probably huge, right? Like Godzilla if he was a man-witch." Andrew, panicked, produced a small penknife from his pocket. Warren snatched it away.

"But—" Jonathon began again.

"You're right. We need weapons. This?" Warren waved the tiny, dull blade. "Ain't gonna cut it. And by _it _I mean Godzilla. And by cut, I mean…" He smiled.

"Listen! Guys, this is bad—"

Jonathon heard a gun cock. Warren had a rifle. He held a pistol to Andrew, who, brow shiny with nervous sweat, stuffed the weapon eagerly into his waistband and immediately adopted thuggish mannerisms.

Warren held a second pistol to Jonathon, who reached out or it, hesitated, and reached again. Instead of the cold metal of the gun, however, his hand found the penknife.

"More your style, Mini Me," Warren explained with a heady sneer.

* * *

When Spike finally found Willow, it was too late; she was deeply engrossed in the trance, and pulling her out now risked trapping her already unstable presence in the ether forever.

"Damn it, Willow!" He paced, awaiting the first signs that she was stable enough to be pulled away from the spell, and also keeping an eye out for any other baddies with intentions less noble than his own.

Finally, Willow's body ceased convulsing, the cries she emitted sounded less hollow, and Spike recognized that her consciousness had found its way back. She gasped awake to find a very irate vampire tapping his steel-toe-booted heel and staring at her sternly. She felt it inappropriate to mention how ill she felt, how unusually weak she was at the spell's end. Or how completely wigged this made her.

"I like your blood pheasant," he said, pointedly casual. "Those run kind of expensive, don't they? Seeing as how they're oh, endangered, indigenous to India, and HOLY."

"Spike, I--"

"No. Don't, Willow. This? You? Evil's not your look, pet."

"How'd you find me?"

"I went outside. I could feel something evil a-stirring. Followed my whatchacallit, spider senses or what have you. Only the big—and I mean BIG—bad can feel spells this dark. D'you know what you might've called here with this?"

Too many things happened at once for even Spike's hypersenses to keep up then.

Suddenly, all of Willow's dark magic implements were safely packed away, the witch had flown up from the dirt and had Spike pinned to a tree, seething.

"_Buffy _doesn't hear about this, understood? Buffy hears this, and Spike hears _this._" He felt a poke at his chest. She held a stake to his heart.

"Shove off," he pushed the witch away. "I'll keep your bloody secret. Pun quite intended." He flicked his cigarette in her direction, careful not to get it too close. "Only 'cause you're not as cute when you threaten lives. Especially mine."

Suddenly he was in the graveyard, quite alone.

This was short-lived, however. Spike threw himself behind a large, conveniently-placed tomb and awaited whatever was on its way.

He was disappointed, however, to find it was only Warren, Jonathon, and that other one—the "Trio." Spike scoffed and made to reveal his presence. He stopped short when he caught a snatch of Warren's self-indulged monologue.

"Shut up! It's—it's gone. The air thing—it disappeared. Damn it! I'm _positive _it came from here though."

Spike watched the Trio look around, gather clues in all the wrong places…except Warren, who seemed to sense exactly where Willow had sat performing the uberblack of magic not three minutes ago.

"I don't know, dude," Andrew said, lifting a large rock and inspecting the underneath side for a sign of the intruder. "I couldn't feel anything except a weird itchy sensation."

"Yeah well. That's what you get for leaving milk sitting in my Iron Man commemorative drinking glasses!" Jonathon snapped at him.

They were hushed by Warren, who made some offhand threat to their mothers, and they exited the cemetery.

Spike, a distinctive heaviness clouding his thoughts, followed suit.


End file.
